Free The Missing Girl by Norma Fox Mazer

begun!’”
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    AN OLD-FASHIONED VIRTUE
    “HELLO, GIRLS,” the man says.
    It’s Sunday afternoon, and he’s sitting on a bench in the park facing the duck pond. He has brought bread in a plastic bag for the ducks. The trees are leafing out, the sky is blue after days of clouds, and the girls are coming along the path through the woods. His heart quickens.
    “Hello, girls,” he says quietly. They don’t appear to hear him. He throws a piece of bread to the ducks, and they gather, squawking for the morsel. The girls come closer.
    He says it again. “Hello, girls.”
    “Hello!” Her Dimness says. “Are you feeding the ducks? I love ducks, they’re so cute, I wish I had some 102

    ducks, but I can’t because of where we live, and I can’t have a dog because of allergies, and—”
    “Come on, Fancy,” Hair Girl says. “Don’t bother the man.”
    “She’s not bothering me,” he says. He tosses another piece of bread into the water.
    “Oh, oh, look at them. Autumn, look at them! Are they fighting?” Her Dimness squats down. “Don’t fight, ducks, it’s not nice, you can share the bread. Share! Why don’t you share? Please, be nice.”
    “Would you like to feed the ducks?” The man holds out a piece of bread.
    “No, thank you,” Hair Girl says. “We have to go home now.”
    She’s polite. He likes that.
    “Fancy, come on ,” she says. “They’re waiting for us.”
    She puts her finger in her mouth and twirls her gum on her tongue. Pink gum, pink tongue.
    “No, not yet, please,” Her Dimness whines. “I want to feed the ducks. Please, please, Autumn my sister, I want to feed the ducks, I do, I do.”
    “Oh, let her feed them, Autumn,” he says, very gently.
    He likes her name. He says it to himself. Autumn . The 103

    other one has a rather stupid name, which is, of course, fitting.
    “Well . . .” Autumn frowns deliciously. Then she gives him a little what-can-you-do look, an adult-to-adult look, and says, “Oh, okay, Fancy, go on. But don’t take forever,”
    she adds in a motherly tone.
    “Try not to give it all to them at once,” he advises, hand-ing Fancy a slice of bread. “Tear it into small pieces.”
    “I will, I will, oh thank you, you are so nice,” she cries, and she rushes to the edge of the water and begins scattering bread, laughing as the ducks clamor. “Oh, look, the little one there isn’t getting any,” she says. “That poor little baby duck, oooh, he is so cute!”
    “Your sister is enthusiastic,” he says to Autumn. She nods. She’s shy. A delightful, old-fashioned virtue, shy-ness.
    He smiles at her, but not too much of a smile. He doesn’t want to scare her. He’s just sharing his amusement at her sister. His pulse beats in his throat. As if he’s both himself and someone else watching him and the two girls, he wonders what’s going to happen. If some event, some change, some turn of fortune is about to take place. His eyes go slightly out of focus, and there’s a buzzing in his head, a 104

    pleasant sound, as of bees in flowers.
    Autumn sits down on the other end of the bench and bends over to untie one of her sneakers. “I’ve got a stone in my shoe,” she says.
    He nods. “That can be annoying.” From the corner of his eye, he watches as she shakes out the sneaker, then puts it on again and ties it. She puffs a little, charmingly, as if bending over is strenuous. Her hair falls around her face, and when she sits up, she tucks it back behind her ears. Every little movement she makes is delicious.
    “Autumn my sister!” Fancy runs up with her awkward stride and whispers in Autumn’s ear.
    “Can’t you hold it?” Autumn says. She glances at him.
    “No!” Fancy shakes her head. “I have to go bad,” she whispers loudly. “Can I go over there?” She points into the woods.
    “Well . . . okay. Go behind a tree. Don’t pee on your shoes.” Again, she glances at him. Her cheeks are red. She stands up. “Hurry, though, we have to